


Cynthasized (revised Beatle History)

by jbeakers



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen, John's cats, Violence, historic fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbeakers/pseuds/jbeakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cynthia Lennon discovers her husband with yoko, and decides to take hold of her marriage and destiny.</p><p>This is some weirdness I composed a few years ago while angry at yoko, and wishing events in history had unfolded differently. I wanted to experiment with something I'd never attempted before, and did so. Cyn does some serious clobbering in this one.</p><p>My Cynthia uses some derogatory language. It's part of her characterization, and nothing else.</p><p>It is crack, it is violent, and there's cat death.  I've skewed the dates to intensify the situation. The Kenwood 'incident' actually happened in May of 1968. So... needless to say, none of this happened... but it would have made for some interesting history diversion. I only own the plot and the original cat characters, lol.</p><p>One shot, though reading it again there's much I could have added to it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cynthasized (revised Beatle History)

August 22, 1968  
John felt the next sob rising in his chest, and fought it. He kept his eyes closed, and concentrated on calming his breathing. He had flopped down on the couch, lying on his back trying to block out all thoughts. His fear was gone now, replaced with a deep heartache he was sure would not ever leave him.

He felt a warm body lay across his chest and something tickle his chin. Instead of comfort, this presence only made his condition worse. A small sob escaped his lips and his body shuddered with the hitch in his breath. In response, he felt a caress on his cheek. This touch started the tears all over again…tears a delicate tongue licked away, as if to recognize his despair.

He opened his eyes at the sound of a small squeak, and looked into the face of his potential comfort. Matisse -- his favorite kitty; the love of his cat lady heart. Matisse again reached out with a small paw and caressed his cheek.

With a wet gasp, the tears now flowed freely as he gathered the cat into his arms and sat upright stroking the top of his soft head. Images of horror streamed through his brain, accompanied by memories of yowling screams and inward gasps of surprise.

It was all a nightmare he could not have imagined. His swift emasculation had been unbearably painful, and seemed to happen in super slow motion. Every moment of pure hell was burned into his brain. Against his will, he was about to live it all over again. He was still sore, as he shifted so he could lean his head back. So sore…  
\------------------------------  
Drugs. Oh how he loved his drugs. LSD had been his savior, opening his mind and allowing him thoughts of freedom in his physical state as well as his mental state. Pot allowed him to relax; but LSD allowed him to let go and live—and make terrible decisions. Painful, haunting, and STUPID decisions…

Smug is what he’d been feeling while sitting on the floor with Yoko, both of them clad in bathrobes—when he heard the front door open. He felt Cyn enter the room and turned his head in her direction…while Yoko continued to stare at him with a blank face; with just a hint of a self-satisfied smirk. She was ready for a glorious show, her avante garde masterpiece of manipulation. This would make her a star, without a doubt.

Cynthia Powell Lennon’s reaction to this scene was not what Mr. John Fucking Lennon, L.S.D had expected. At all. Instead of shock, tears, and a quick exit—she dropped her bag and took in the scene while her face began to glow scarlet red. Cyn Lennon had grown some major sized balls while she was on holiday. John began to pray for the first time in his life as Cyn’s gaze fell and stayed upon Yoko.

Cyn’s seemingly disembodied voice came from a hard drinking, dirty fighting, filthy Scouse legend. Whose name happened to be Cynthia P. Lennon. Oh shit. Her suddenly thick Scouser accent was scary. John could barely understand it; so he knew Yoko couldn’t. Oh, fuck.

“You mother fuckin’ she-devil of a BITCH. I don’t know who the bloody fuck ya think ya are. I don’t know why ya feel the need to stalk me drug addled, mindless, arsehole husband. I do know ya weaseled yer way in beside him, and now I’m gonna kick yer sorry bloody arse OUT!! YOU have finally come to the end of yer expected free ride.”

Cynthia started toward the confused asian woman; who by now had acknowledged Cyn’s presence. She looked quickly back at John who assumed she was hoping for a translation of sorts. She didn’t get one from the shocked former teddy boy wannabe. He just stared at Cyn in rather reverent awe.

This was time wasted for Yoko, who really was quite stupid. Cyn towered over her, hands on hips before the legendary voice spoke again.

“Yer nothin’ but a piece of shit, and I want ya out of me house. Yer clear mistake is that ya didn’t try to run before I got here. Now I believe I would like to have some keepsakes of this time we’re havin' together. I want some of yer fucking blood stains on me walls, and perhaps a few teeth. Maybe I wanna do some fancy bollocks art too.”

John winced at that, and as Yoko turned her head to John once more; her smug fucking around time had run out. Cynthia football kicked her square in the mouth. Her boot upper connecting perfectly; it was a flawless penalty kick. Yoko’s head snapped back with the forceful impact and she yowled in pain as she slumped to her back. With strength John had no idea she had, Cyn quickly reached down and double fisted long black hair and yanked the dazed Yoko to her feet.

Cynthia spoke slower this time, making sure Yoko understood every single syllable.

“Yer nothin' but a fucking slag. I suggest ya go to yer precious, expensive London flat and roll that bloodied shit face of yers on a canvas. THAT would be a real avant shit art piece. Be sure to credit me on it, as I did most of the work. Then sell it. You may title this: “I made the mistake of fucking with John Lennon”. This is how you can pay Apple back for what ya jewed out of me fucked up husband, yeah?.”

Cynthia glanced over her shoulder at John, who just sat open mouthed and wide eyed. She shook her head and turned back to Yoko.

“Yer no challenge, and I can’t believe ya swallowed the teeth I planned to use for my project. Bitch! Get out, take all belongin's with ya. If I find a ring, or so much as a postcard scrap in this house I will be returning it to you personally. If this happens, I will repeat this greeting. GOT IT?”

Yoko coughed and nodded; too shocked and stupid to even cry. Cynthia snorted and pushed Yoko into a wall, watching as she staggered on trembling legs to gather her shit. John started to get up to assist. This was not the best of ideas.

“Where the fuck do ya suppose yer goin’ loverboy?” Cynthia growled this with undisguised menace. “Sit yer arse right back where it was, for fuck’s sake. I think ya helped her more than enough already. Sorry piece a shit, you are, in yer own WRITE!” Cyn had officially embraced the gift of sarcasm as well, even sounding out the W in write.

John did as he was told. He had locked eyes with Cyn now, and was feeling a bit aroused by what he just saw. He had grossly miscalculated his wife. He had no idea she would ever fight for him. Saying nothing, he continued with their stare and wondered if she was feeling randy as well. He hoped so. God DAMN she was hot when she unleashed her anger. Yoko could fuck off. Lennon couldn’t wait for her to leave; shit, where’s Julian?!

Yoko had gathered her things and stood by the front door, seemingly confused now. Cyn broke off the stare with John and turned her attention back to the bloody mess.

“No need to say anything YOYO. Feel free to use the phone to call a taxi if need be. Once yer outside the gate, ya know what to do. Stay the fuck away. DO NOT think of screwin' with me. Keep in mind, Bitch, I’m the wife of a Beatle. Yup, and you are an intruder in my house. If you think about calling the authorities, think again. I have a feelin' John will back me up on this one.” Yoko nodded and left. Cyn relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief before turning to John.

“I will deal with you shortly. For now, I’m very tired and need a bath. Julian is with my mother. He wanted to stay with her for a bit.”

John nodded slowly, and then ventured to speak.

“Ah. Is it alright if I get up, then?”

Cyn shrugged. “Of course it is. Please just let me be for awhile and under no circumstances will you leave. I mean it.”

“No, no. I won’t leave. There isn’t anything at the studio to do right at the moment.”

“I would have guessed that, as I’m sure you had plans with that fucking chopstick tart. I’m not stupid, John. Don’t you dare think of me as stupid.”

John grinned nervously, and Cyn headed for the bath.

Tea. Tea is good. He would make her tea for when she got done with her bath. That would help calm her. Wine? Maybe wine. No kid in the house, no interruptions. Yeah, let’s start new and forget about Yoko. Good plan! She threw Yoko out, so there was really nothing to talk about, right? Right.

With the tea done, Cyn hadn’t yet come out of the bath. John poured himself a cup and sat down on the couch to watch some television. Literally. He never turned the set on. Thoughts of some angry sex with his wife swirling around his head like a hurricane. It made him nervous and giddy all at once!!

Soon, Cyn appeared in the living room. Her face was unreadable, but she looked comfortable in her casual around-the-house attire.

John jumped up from the couch and approached her, and attempted a hug. “Cyn, I can explain…” She put out a stiff arm and held him at bay.

“NO, John. This isn’t the usual situation where you realize you fucked up, and vomit up ‘sorry’ in seven different dialects and I forgive you. There will be no more of that horseshit.”  
John stepped back and put his arms up, waving them in a mock defensive position, signaling he would back off.

“Let me ask you a question first, John. Do you have any idea what the date is today? Maybe I need to clue you up on the month first?”

John knew damn well what the date was. That was Yoko’s suggestion; to shock Cynthia on the day before her sixth wedding anniversary. He felt a bit awkward and ashamed at that knowledge now.  
“It’s August twenty….second.” he feigned having to think it over. “Where is this conversation leading, Cyn?”

Cynthia just shook her head sadly. Lennon had no idea she could read him so well, much less the fact she KNEW him so well. The man knew important dates. He knew the ones that made him happy and ones that broke him in two. She let it go.

“It’s simple. I’m going to tell you what is going to happen, and you’re going to fucking do it.”

John flinched, not pleased with this statement at all. He felt the anger begin to rise in his belly and desperately tried to push it down. He knew his husbandly position was very precarious right at the moment and tried desperately to keep his voice even.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like a very fair marriage direction to take do you think?”

“Fair John?” She narrowed her eyes, and the scarlet was again starting to glow in her face. “What kind of fair would Julian and I be experiencing right at this moment if I hadn’t kicked the shit out your filthy Japanese twat just a short time ago? Wasn’t your little plan to tell me how things were going to be, and I was going to live with it?”

He didn’t answer. His razor wit had been ripped from him by the multiple surprises from his wife this afternoon. He no longer knew where he stood. Particularly when presented with the truth: he wanted her to cut and run. Now he had to do what he hated the most. Face it.

“Well, I can see you finally swallowed your God Damned tongue. Though I expected this would happen with an overdose. Are you breathing alright, darling?” Ouch, sarcasm again  
.  
“No, luv, my tongue is in place thank you very much. What is it you have in mind, then?”

“Fine. Rule number one. No more fucking drugs. Zero. Furthermore, you won’t be replacing them with alcohol. I don’t mind if you drink, John, but you won’t be acting like an eighteen year old arse every time you do so. I won’t have it; you’re going to have to find some control.

John’s eyes widened and he took a step forward. “You can’t do that, it isn’t fair and you haven’t any right to demand that of me.”

Cynthia the Legend did not answer. The Legend stared right into his eyes as she administered a lightning fast and slightly angled kick to his balls. Maximum contact, maximum pain.

The swiftness of the attack escaped him at first, the initial indication being the coppery metallic taste in his mouth. Realization dawned when the pain reverberated up the length of his spine…and as he sank to his knees the pain raced back down the spinal path to his testicles again. As he flopped on his side in a fetal position, the automatic tears began to leak. He coughed once and tried to regain some of his wind, as the pain began to radiate up into his abdomen…the throbbing ache…

“Well, I suppose I’ll make us some tea. Perhaps you’ll recover some sense and be able to stand…”

“NO! No, Cyn. I’ll be alright…please…don’t…leave….” He let out an unintentional sob, which he wasn’t sure was from the pain of being kicked, or the simple humiliation of it all. This was followed by a generous coughing fit. He managed not to upchuck, but it was close.

“Alright, John but you better know I mean it. No more drugs, ever. I’ve had it. I’m done being the fucking victim here. You have your problems with Beatley things, and ones of your own. I know that, and drugs aren’t the answer. You can’t handle problems and drugs at the same time. I’ve been silent entirely too long.”

Slowly Lennon got to his knees, and used the coffee table to push himself to his feet. Clearly shaken, he waited for the next demand.

“Since you guys are no longer touring, you need to work out a personal schedule. I want to know when you’re going to be gone and when you’re going to be home. Julian needs some stability with his father…and BEING his father, you’re going to make that happen.

Despite his persisting pain, John got mad again. “Wait. Whatever the band does, I do as well. Jesus Christ! I’m not going to demand…”

The girl was like greased lightning; without warning, Cyn threw a devastating jab to his mouth followed quickly by a left hook which caught him high on his jaw. He felt his glasses fly from his face and his neck twist. Shocked again, he staggered a bit but not before she punched him straight in the gut. This punch accomplished two things: it knocked the wind out of him for a second time, and sent a fresh wave of pain to his southern region. John backed away and leaned against the wall to keep his feet, his eyes wide with pain and now shock was settling in. He could taste the blood from his lacerated lip, and feel the blood trickle down and off his chin.

“You listen to me John Fucking Lennon. I am done with your bullshit. Since for the length of our marriage you’ve seen it fit to wander off and collect women and habits to avoid your responsibility to US. Your FAMILY. Well, guess what, you sniveling piece of shit? You’re now going to grow the fuck up. I’m done coddling you and being your ‘yes’ girl. Your antics today, as I’ve mentioned, were designed to drive me and your son out of your life so you can attempt to live some daft fantasy. I’m telling you now. FUCK THAT! I’ve suffered along side of you through thick and thin, rich and poor. You’ve never made an attempt to comfort me through the rough times. Fucking Hell! You never bothered to celebrate with me through the GREAT times! I’ve had one day short of six years of nothing but BASTARD you. I think I deserve the rest of our lives with you as a bloody HUSBAND!”

It was all too much. He was in pain, and being forced to hear the truth of his life for the better part of a decade. He fucked up big and was solely responsible. He gave up. He put his hand up in surrender and shuffled to the couch. Now openly crying, he tried desperately to think of something to say. Cynthia interrupted his thoughts.

“I think you’ve had enough for today. I am going to say a few things and then do some food shopping and visit Julian. I will leave him at mum’s until we get our household settled a bit.”

Cynthia walked over and pulled at John’s blood smeared chin, demanding he look at her.

“You’re a grown man with a wife and child. You will start fucking acting like it. You will get rid of that ridiculous poofy haircut to begin with. Grow it longer, if you wish or get a proper man’s haircut. It’s up to you. With the drugs, your psychedelic arsehole-idiot clothes will go too. You’re almost thirty years old—not eighteen and looking to shock parents. I’m betting if you dress your age, perhaps you’ll act your fucking age too. Those wire rimmed glasses will go too. You’re no longer in a movie and I don’t appreciate the look. Get better contacts, or some appropriate glasses. Let’s be a big boy, shall we?”

John stayed silent, tears flowing, but nodded along with her demands. She wasn’t finished.

“Julian. Your flesh and blood. You will make a concerted effort to pay attention to him and exercise some fatherly patience with him. He is a human being too, and deserves to be treated as such. I’m counting on your being off drugs for you to be able to see this and do this. For the time being, consider him your personal protection. I will never act out against you while he is present. It’s better for him to find out later what an arse his father was in his first five years. I’m determined that from here on out he will remember nothing but joy and cherished memories from you.”

John nodded again. He was now choking back sobs, but tried to be quiet. He did not want to appear to interrupt his wife. He felt his naughty boy rise in him just a tick. He thought of Paul. Paul would never stand for this. Well, maybe some of….maybe all….Paul would understand him. Maybe.

“I’m leaving now John. I will be back in some hours. I expect you will use that genius brain of yours and think about what I’ve said. This is just the beginning; it will not always be tough and we will eventually support each other as a proper husband and wife should. For now, I am in control and will not stand for anything but what I want. It’s my turn. I hope it won’t be long before you realize that I love you. It may not feel that way right at the moment, but I do love you and always have. I can just no longer stand by and watch you destroy yourself. Ridding OUR life of that wretched Japanese troll was a big step.”

Cyn stood up to leave.

“I’m a much stronger woman than you have ever given me proper credit for, John Lennon. Believe this, if I come back and you have gone? I will hunt you down. I will hunt you down and I will destroy whoever has been foolish enough to help you. Count on it.”

The Legend Cynthia P. Lennon turned on her heel, picked up her purse and disappeared out the front door. He heard the car leave the driveway as he stretched out on the couch, trying to gain some control. Soon it was Matisse who showed up and tried to comfort him.

Cradling the purring cat in his arms, he continued to shake with silent sobs. Of course for the most part he knew Cynthia was absolutely right. The treatment of his family was unquestionably wrong, and had been for years. He was aware of that. The temptation of being able to start new with Yoko was just too much. He was so confused. Now he wanted Yoko…but it was just her comfort. If he tried to run now, his newly minted Psychotic Cynthia would certainly kill him.

John gingerly turned himself on his side and cuddled the cat against his chest. Soon the cat’s purring lulled him to sleep.

He startled when the doorbell rang. “Oh, please GOD don’t let it be Yoko…pleaaase.” He started to slowly push himself up off the couch when Paul appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, John, the door was open…what’s the matter? You look like hell! Why is there blood all over? What the fuck happened to your face?? I saw Rembrandt outside…what the fuck have you done?!”

John wiped his face roughly with his sleeve and shook his head swallowing a thick sob. “What about Rembrandt? Did you let him in?”

“Oh…ahhh. I figured you knew. Um, Rembrandt is in no condition to come in the house, John.”

John froze. “What do you mean? Is there something wrong with my cat??” Fresh tears sprung from Lennon’s eyes as he waited for an answer. Paul just stared at him wide eyed, unable to speak.  
John limped toward the front door as fast as his broken body would allow. He hobbled around the corner of the house and let loose a distinctly un-manly shriek. When Paul caught up with him, John was bawling uncontrollably and swaying on his feet.

Rembrandt, Matisse’s brother lay yards from the garage, looking like a deflated furry balloon.

Kitty blood and internal kitty bits were liberally sprayed in a concentrated spot on the garage door. It was obvious to John that Cyn ran the cat over when she left. Paul caught John just as he fainted. Paul held on to his friend, trying to position him so he could drag him back into the house. With one last look at what was left of Rembrandt…he couldn’t help but think John maybe should have named the cat Pollock instead. That mess on the garage door looked NOTHING like a Rembrandt. Huh.

Paul half carried, half dragged John back into the house and deposited him on the couch. He stood back and took a second look at his friend. John sported a puffy split lip, his jaw was darkening to a very pretty shade of purple, and his closed eyes were swollen from crying. His white robe was spotted with blood. Shit. What in the fuck had John done? What kind of drug trip caused such physical damage? What the hell happened to Rembrandt? He couldn’t imagine Lennon harming one of his cats even in the midst of a totally fucked up LSD trip.

Paul went to the kitchen and soaked a towel with cold water. He knelt by the couch and carefully touched John’s face and neck with it, hoping to gently bring him back to consciousness.

John stirred and gradually opened his eyes. Even without his glasses he recognized Paul’s face gazing at him. In that same instant, his whole afternoon came back to him full force and the sobs wracked him once more. Without a word Paul quickly stood up and helped John to a sitting position, easily sliding in beside him while wrapping his arms around his weeping friend. John continued to cry for some time while Paul rocked him gently, shushing him and murmuring words of solace. Eventually John calmed enough to talk.

“Paul, something has happened to Cyn. She’s changed somehow. She caught Yoko and I here and beat the tar out of Yoko—sent her packing. You should have heard her, Paul. She was swearin’ like a dock worker and strong as a fuckin’ ox. If that wasn’t enough, when I tried to explain, she beat the living shit out of me too! Now *SOB!* she killed my Rembrandt. She killed my fucking cat, Paul!”

John quit breathing momentarily as a thought occurred to him. He turned and looked Paul straight in the face.

“Oh, oh. Paul! You have to get out of here. If she gets even a whiff of our relationship, she’ll kill us both. You gotta go!”

Paul listened with interest and asked an obvious question.

“When did you drop the acid, John? How many hours has it been? You’ve had a bad trip, son. I’ve been telling you to lay off the stuff. Looks like I was right, mate.”

John just stared, unable to believe what Paul had just suggested.

“Macca. The only thing I’ve had today is a joint. I had it before Cyn came home; trying to relax while Yoko and I waited. I swear. You must have seen the blood all over by the front door. The blood all over the front of the robe isn’t just mine! Cyn damn near kicked Yoko’s head right off her shoulders. Look at my jaw, for fuck’s sake; do you think this split lip came from a hit of acid? The woman punches like a fucking prize fighter.” Tears ran down Johns face as he talked about the details of his horrible afternoon.

“Okay, John. I believe you, calm down. Don’t worry, Cyn and I have always got on well. I’m Uncle Paul, remember? Where is she, anyway?” He still believed John was under the influence.

“She went out, said she would be back in a few hours. She went food shopping and to see Jules at her mum’s place.”

“Right. Well, you just relax. I’m here now.” Paul pulled him closer, and stroked his hair. “You just relax and try to sleep a bit. We’ll hear her car pull up.”

“Don’t fall asleep, Paulie. I’m warning you.”

Paul dropped a quick kiss on the top of John’s head. “Quit worrying, John. Everything will be fine. Cuddle up and sleep some.” John wrapped his arms around Paul’s torso and buried his head in his chest. Soon his breathing evened out; sleep had come.

Paul hadn’t planned on falling asleep. He was happily dreaming of a bloodied up Yoko face when he felt the pain.

He opened his eyes and found the Legend Cynthia P. Lennon’s face inches from his own. The pain he was feeling was the fistful of his family jewels she had hold of. Oh, shit was she strong. In a split second he realized she not only had hold of him through his jeans…but she was TWISTING too. He quickly sucked in a breath and held it.

John was still cuddled against his chest fast asleep. Cyn had entered the room silently and found her husband wrapped around Paul McCartney. Without her express permission.

He felt the heat coming off Cyn’s face as she growled softly. “What the fuck are you doing here?” With this said she twisted hard and yanked harder on the bassist’s nuts. He screamed out in pain.  
John, instantly awake, blindly pushed off Paul and fell over the coffee table grunting and cowering at the same time. He scuttled behind an easy chair and watched the scene unfold. His eyes filled with tears, and he didn’t even know what was going on yet.

The screaming continued, Cyn released her hold then stood upright to watch Paul writhe in pain. He coughed several times before addressing his attacker.

“What the fuck was that for, Cyn?! I’ve done nothing to deserve that!” That was the wrong response.

Cynthia drew back and backhanded McCartney, catching his right cheek full on. Spit flew from his mouth and testicle pain induced tears launched from his face from the force. John shrunk back behind the chair, choking on a sob.

“Now, Paul. Let’s try not to answer questions with questions of our own. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Jesus Christ, Cynthia! I just came over to see if you and Jules had made it home safely! SHIT! What other…”

He didn’t get the chance to ask another stupid question. The Legend had the third and fourth fistfuls of hair she would grab for the day. She yanked McCartney off the couch and slapped him in the face.

“I don’t know when you “BOYS” are going to quit fucking with me. John could have told you we got home safely. What’s with the cuddly shit with my husband?”

Mr. Sodding Public Relations had no answer. While not being a stupid man, he was presently at a loss. He had the distinct feeling no matter what he answered; he was going to get punished for it. It turns out he should have just babbled anything. Sometimes being correct isn’t a good thing.

“God Damn. What do I have to do…?” Cyn didn’t finish her sentence as she threw a heavy punch directly into Paul’s stomach. This achieved the same result as when she did so to John earlier. Paul’s wind was gone again, and his aching abdomen burned with fresh fiery pain. He took a half step back and collapsed back on the couch.

Cyn stood over him again and waited for some kind of response. When Paul could finally speak again he croaked:

“I really did come to see you and Jules. I found Rembrandt in the driveway; John didn’t know he was dead. John was a wreck over it, and I just did what any best friend would do. I comforted him. That’s all, Cyn. I fell asleep.” McCartney was now crying. His breath was coming now in childish hitches, whimpers really. He lay back on the couch with one forearm across his eyes and cried like a little girl. Big surprise  
.  
“Well, Paulie-Poo—just so you know, I didn’t hit Rembrandt on purpose. The mangy son of a whore ran in front of me as I was leaving. John let out a long moan at this piece of information. Cyn looked over at him and he promptly ended the moan. Genius, that Lennon.

“I will replace him with a dog. A dog isn’t so self important to think a car will stop to let it by as if it were royalty. Cat’s are infernally stupid. I hate stupid.”

Paul listened, but couldn’t control his whimpering. Cyn shook her head. She was tired of this game. She patted the side of his leg to get his attention, and then held her hand out to Paul. He reluctantly took it. She pulled him up off the couch and punched him square in the nose. She could hear John’s sobbing intensify at the raw sound of the bassist’s nose cartilage snapping.

“Out with you Paul. You should really go to hospital and have that nose looked at. If the press wants to know what happened tell them some crazy Japanese bitch jumped out of the shadows and hit you with a cricket bat. We will continue this conversation at a later time. Please call if you plan to show up here. Jules will be glad to see you. Hurry up, now. You’re getting blood all over my house.”

Paul couldn’t speak, crying and bleeding made it very hard to speak. He simply nodded and headed toward the front door. He dared not look at John. That might piss The Legend off…and he could take no more physical abuse. He wondered what the future would hold for all of them…he heard the front door close as he staggered to his car.  
\------------------------------------------------------  
Three weeks later, Cynthia called Paul and asked him to dinner. Paul reluctantly agreed. All recording had been suspended while Lennon and McCartney's battered bodies healed. Not a word was heard from Yoko.

It was a beautiful late summer day when Paul arrived at Kenwood. Cyn and Julian met him at the door. Julian was overjoyed to see his Uncle Paul.

Cynthia grinned when she reached to kiss Paul on the cheek and he flinched. "Calm down, Paul. I'm truly glad to see you. Julian! Take your Uncle Paul to the garden, please."

Julian took Paul's hand and led him to the back garden where a feast had been laid out. As soon as the boy saw his dad leaning over the table rummaging through food, he broke into a run and clung to John's leg. "Hey, boy, what're ya doin?" John said this as he swept Jules up and swung him up on his shoulders. "There, now you can see Uncle Paul better, yeah?"

Paul grinned, surprised to see both Lennon men... interacting. John looked good, his face had healed nicely. John thought the same of Paul's rapidly mending face. They hadn't seen each other or spoken since Cyn's... shapeshift??

Before they even had a chance to speak, Cyn appeared with a stew of sorts and implored them all to sit. The meal went by amiably, with much small talk and conversation with little Julian. It took a short time for Paul to realize he was the only one at the table stressing. John and Cyn were all smiles, and complimentary of each other. The meal concluded, and Julian was excused to go play while Cyn began the task of clearing the table. Paul immediately stood to help her.

"No, Paul. Sit. I can take care of this. Have your cigarette and relax!" Cyn smiled. Paul was afraid.

"It was a wonderful meal, Cynthia. Quite tasty stew. Thank you." Paul offered as he took his seat again.

"You're quite welcome. It took a week for me to figure out I have to marinate the cat meat to make it edible. They're muscly little bastards." This was said as Cyn turned on her heel and left the area.

Paul paled... then he turned green, before bothering to look at John—who rolled his eyes.

"She's taking the piss, and offering a small reminder of who's boss. The morning after her attitude change, not only was I told I was eating Rembrandt sausage, she convinced me she sent his hide out to have a hat made for me. None of it was true. Christ. I've been behaving, and taking an inventory of the cats every evening. They're all accounted for."

Paul swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've been thinking. Our involvement probably needs to..."

"Stop." John finished for him. "I'm way ahead of you. I love you, and it's been fun, but frankly you're not worth dying for, mate. Sorry."

Paul actually laughed. "Safety is job one, no arguments from me." He still glanced up to make sure Cyn hadn't returned.

John sighed and lit another smoke. "We need to get writing again. This change has been tough, but I honestly haven't felt better in my life. I was looking for a bit of direction and it seems Cyn has provided that for me. It's still early, but so far it seems to be working for me."

"You and Julian seem to be getting along well, too."

"Yep. He isn't anything to be afraid of. He's actually quite fun."

Paul picked up his glass of wine and waved it at John. "Here's to new beginnings, and better directions, then."

John nodded. "And proof that fear and pain can be beneficial."


End file.
